This was a big day for me. A big emotional day.
I don’t know why I’m weepy. Really, I don’t. Surely it’s not because of the sappy 8th grade slide show which ran for THIRTY SEVEN MINUTES and yes, I did time it.
This was my third 8th Grade Farewell. The first one was emotional, I admit. (Though the long slide show was not my thing then, either.) The second one? Our kid was in Jazz Band and they were rocking. Big time. So that was fun. But the slide show? Still way too long and sappy for my taste.
So tonight. Tonight, our next kid was in Jazz Band and they were rocking. (Sense a theme here?) And yes, the slide show was way too long and sappy for me. But this year was different.
First of all, this kid was the Bandmaster. He stood confidently and led the Jazz Band with Isabelle. They were incredible. I was kvelling. And then, he played his tenor sax and I was blown away. Not just because I’m him mom, but because I could hear the growth in his music. He stood there tall and proud. With his Fedora and his green shirt and yellow tie and he was just…
Big. Mature. Serious. Funny. Charming.
But me being proud of my baby is not the point of this post. So what is?
I’m a little emotional (okay, a lot but don’t judge me).
These sorts of milestones make me look back. To take stock. to remember. I know it’s super corny, but it seems like just yesterday that I’d take my 3 little boys to Target at 6:00 am so that Andrew could sleep in on Saturday after a long week of work (he’d do the same for me on Sunday). I’d get that cart with the 2 red seats attached to the cart for my toddler and preschooler and the seat in the cart for the baby and I’d walk up and down every – single – aisle – in Target. We walked through the shoes department. The women’s clothing. The workout clothes. The detergents. The toys. The hardware. Sheets. Appliances.
SLOWLY. Because, you know, I didn’t want to go home for at least 2 hours. That’s a long time in Target when there’s really nothing on the list except killing time.
And it was worth it. Because as I cruised the housewares, I daydreamed of the next morning. The morning when I got to sleep in the quiet, empty house and Andrew got to figure out how to occupy the 3 boys under 4 for a couple hours.
Ahhhh. Sleep. So delicious. The unattainable. Tomorrow. If I could just wait until tomorrow.
But now, as I look back with my boys at 17, 15, and 13, I just want to say one thing:
It was totally worth the lost sleep.
I’m grateful that I remember every minute of the road to now. And I’m grateful for such happy and loving sons.
I’m not saying there’s no fighting or (ahem) issues over here. But we have a pretty amazingly, awesome life. And I wouldn’t trade anything for my guys. They are the joy of Andrew’s and my life.
Though it’s emotional that they’ll all be in high school next year and that I can see the future where they’ll all be gone, I’m a happy and proud mom.
Just let me cry a little bit and I’ll be okay.